


I've seen sunny days (that I thought would never end)

by nothingbutniall



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutniall/pseuds/nothingbutniall
Summary: Phil can’t remember the last time it rained and his garden is suffering. Dan doesn't care about the garden, but he cares about the bees, and Phil.





	I've seen sunny days (that I thought would never end)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep because of the heat. I'm not sure it was the best idea.
> 
> Title from Birdy's Fire And Rain (which is a cover of James Taylor).

Phil can’t remember the last time it rained. The grass has been brown for weeks now, crisps under his feet with every step he takes. He knows a hosepipe ban is imminent, knows they’re not supposed to waste water, but it’s not wasted if it saves his precious flowers, is it? He’ll just take shorter showers, maybe squeeze himself in with Dan. He just can’t let his Agapanthus die. They’re especially gorgeous this year, standing tall despite the heat. The bees love them; Phil can hear their happy humming can from his spot on the shady terrace. It’s the main reason Dan allows him to shower the blue flowers with buckets of water twice a week, because it helps the bees. Phil is also allowed to water the Hydrangea for the same reason. His roses have to survive without him though, as do the blackberry bushes and the Phlox.

(He’s better at gardening than he is at keeping houseplants alive. He’s not sure why, but he suspects outdoor plants have a better defence mechanism that keeps plant-noobs like Phil from killing them all too easily. Nonetheless, he takes pride in the way their garden looks.)

Dan doesn’t care about the garden all that much, but the blackberries are sweet enough to get him picking some every day. He likes stepping out in the morning to top their granola-yoghurt with some fresh berries. This morning though, he returns with only a handful and a frown on his face. “We’re running out.”

Phil turns from where’s he making himself a coffee. “What do you mean, running out? We had loads.”

“They’re all burnt. Took me ages to find some decent ones.” Dan sticks a berry-stained hand out. Phil counts eleven berries. “The strawberries are running low, too.” There’s a pout in his voice.

Phil smiles, presses a kiss to Dan’s temple. “Guess we’ll have to go back to store-bought fruit like the peasants we are, then.”

He’s okay with not having homegrown fruits to enjoy, but he worries about the birds. Their garden is a wildlife paradise, edible plants scattered all over and enough shelter for any animal to find a home. Since all the natural water resources have long been dried up, he’s taken it upon himself to set out birdbaths around the garden. They’re just simple planter coasters he’d found in the back of the shed, now placed strategically in the shadiest corners of the garden.

Phil never manages to spot any birds in them, but he can see the remnants of splashed water and the sand on the bottom of the coasters, so he knows they are being used. He still tries to watch for birds, sitting very still just a few metres away, but in the end his bum goes numb and there’s sweat dripping down his back and he still hasn’t seen any.

They have breakfast outside and it almost feels like they’re on holiday, except they’ve got all the comfort of their own home and none of the stress that comes with being in an unfamiliar environment. The heat is just about bearable at this time of day, when the sun has yet to reach full force and the night air still lingers. Even then, Phil has put on sunscreen while he’s relishing in the shade. Dan’s got his legs stretched out in front of him, letting the sun give him a golden glow.

Before long, the heat drives them back inside, where it’s warm, but not hot. They laze around the house, simply co-existing in each other’s space. Dan is on a bit of a minimalism kick at the moment, so he’s sorting through their kitchen stuff (and where did all those mugs come from?), while Phil plays some Fortnite. He doesn’t manage to do better than top 40, and he swears it’s because of the heat melting his brain. At some point, when they’re watching reruns of The Bridge, they fall asleep, each on a separate sofa, Dan’s hand wrapped loosely around Phil’s ankle (and even that feels too sticky hot).

It gets better in the evening, when temperatures drop to a more respectable twenty-eight degrees. Even the thought of cooking makes sweat pearl on Phil’s forehead, so they’ve been living of salads and take-out. And ice-cream. Lots and lots of it, all day long. The first few days of the heatwave, Phil binged caramel Ben & Jerry’s, but his body quickly protested against all the dairy, so he switches between ice-cream and popsicles now. Currently, he’s got a mango-flavoured popsicle which mostly tastes like plain ice, and he’s eyeing Dan’s marshmallow cookie dough ice with growing jealousy. His boyfriend merely laughs and presses a cold kiss on his lips.

“You watering the plants tonight?”

Phil shakes his head. “Tomorrow. Gonna cut the roses back in a minute so they don’t waste their energy on wilted flowers.”

“Have fun. I’ll be supervising from the pool,” Dan teases. Their pool is a tiny paddling pool for children, only just big enough for one of them to sit in. They can’t fully stretch their legs and the water barely reaches halfway to their thighs, but it’s the best five pounds they’ve ever spent.

“Enjoy the view.”

“Oh, I will,” Dan promises, flicking Phil’s nipple. “That’s got to be my favourite thing about this weather – you, topless, sweat shining on your back. It’s hot.”

A blush spreads on Phil’s face. Even after nearly a decade, he still gets flustered when Dan openly lusts for him. Dan giggles, pleased with Phil’s reaction, and pushes his toe against Phil’s calve. “Come on, go do your thing before the mosquitoes come out to play.”

Phil stands up, wobbles for a second as his blood pressure adjusts, and heads inside to grab his pruning shears. The roses are struggling, and he has to cut away a lot of wilted flowers. While he gets lost in the repetitive movement, he finds himself wishing it would rain soon, because the garden can only take so much more before plants actually die. (And also, he’d really like to be able to cuddle up against Dan again during the night without drowning in sweat.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment below or come talk to me on Twitter (@nothingbutniall)


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